


The Holmes Family

by huvudrollen



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drugs, Kidlock, M/M, Sherlock Holmes and Drug Use, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-08 10:13:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1936974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/huvudrollen/pseuds/huvudrollen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maria and Peter Holmes was the people that started it all.<br/>(Written for Exchangelock 2014)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Holmes Family

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beautifullyheeled](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautifullyheeled/gifts).



In 1957 Maria and Peter Holmes met at the age of thirteen in a warm living room in a London flat. It was written in the stars that they would end up together, but Maria was maybe a bit too beautiful for her own good as it kept her from seeing a husband in Peter for nine years. Peter had been in love with her from the moment they met, but her pale skin, red lips and enchanting eyes made her the object of desire the many men who proposed to her. She always said no, knowing better than to go marrying the first man who asked. She finally said yes when Peter worked up the courage to ask and they were married a summer day in July. He was a shy man, but brilliant scientist and she was PP. They were a greatly respected couple, but they hadn’t planned on expanding their family. Maria has aspergers and feared passing it on to her children. Yet three months after their marriage, Maria was pregnant.  
   
They moved to a nice neighborhood in London. Maria insisted on living in London, saying that it was her only source of happiness. Without realizing the implication that Peter did not make her happy she said it to her husband. Peter sighed knowing she wouldn’t realize how her words hurt him and gave her a weak smile. Her Aspergers was something she always fought against, but Peter was always understanding and loving.   
   
On the bad days Maria would pace through the house cursing and yelling, “Oh god bless this baby from my disease!” She had violent mood swings going through times where she was hopeful and optimistic about their child and times of deep depression. Her usual behavior was just worse with the pregnancy. Peter was worried, but he told himself that things would be better.   
   
Months went by and Maria grew bigger and bigger. She loads of foods, especially an abundance of cake, that she would regret eating later. Seven months before the babies due date, a couple moved in next door. They were a young and expecting their first child too. Their names were Ellie and Christopher Watson and they became good friends to Maria and Peter. Ellie and Maria spent a lot of time drinking tea and discussing pregnancy stories. Maria who never was a person to have close friends was pleased to have one. It cured the loneliness that she felt when Peter worked in the lab.   
   
Ellie gave birth to a blonde haired baby girl that was named Harriet.  Maria was there supporting her best friend when she was in labor. Peter and Christopher were waiting nervously outside. It was a moment strengthened their friendship exponentially. Both Maria and Ellie cried tears of joy when Ellie finally had the baby in her arms. Three months later it was Maria’s turn.   
   
At night on October 17th, Maria’s water broke she was driven in to the hospital in a hurry. After hours of pushing and pep talk, a baby boy was born. He was maybe a little bit chubbier then all the other babies in the hospital, that didn’t matter. He had beautiful curly auburn hair that matched Peters. It was the most beautiful baby boy that they had ever seen. Maria and Peter were so blissfully happy.  
   
The families stayed close as Harriet and Mycroft grew up together. Mycroft blessedly showed no signs of aspergers. He had a huge love for knowledge and books that Harriet did not share and teased him endlessly about. When Ellie was in the hospital giving birth to her second child, six-year-old Mycroft held Harry’s hand the whole time they were in the waiting room. The new baby was named John and he was perfect for when Harry and Mycroft played house. When Mycroft was nine years old his parents announced that they were expecting another child. Mycroft was furious, not wanting to give up his life as an only child. He didn’t want to have to share his birthday and Christmas presents, and certainly not his dessert, like Harry had to with John. He ran out of the house crying and hid in the secret fort he and Harry used to play in, until Harry found him. She explained that having a sibling wasn’t completely awful. She told him about how you could blame them for bad things you did and pull pranks on them that were endlessly amusing. He had wiped his eyes and smiled, as she took his hand and led him back home.  
   
Mycroft didn’t have many friends besides Harry, but the ones he did have he was incredibly close with. He had met Gregory (Greg) Lestrade and Sarah Hooper in year 2 and never let go. Greg, being the only other boy in their friend group, soon became his best friend. Now in year 4 they didn’t have many classes together, but they remained best friends and looked forward to the promise of spending days at a time together in summer. However, in July it was time for the birth of Mycroft’s new brother, getting in the way of time he could spend with Greg.  
This time it was just Maria in the delivery room. A great thunderstorm had swept over England leaving Peter stranded out of town. The Watson family was also away, so there was no chance any of them could come to her now. After four hours of struggling and crying alone a baby boy was born, and she wasn’t alone anymore. He wasn’t like usual babies. He wasn’t like Mycroft when he was born. This baby stared at her in wonder with the most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen. They were green and blue and grey all at once. Forever changing, like he’d captured storm he was born in and hid them in his eyes. The mother and her baby were fascinated by each other. Maria knew, she could tell, that this baby was magnificent. He was something so entirely unusual and peculiar. This baby could change the world if it wished to. She had greed with Peter he would be named William Scott, but he needed something more special than that. Sherlock something in her mind whispered and it was perfect.  
“Miss what’s his name?” the nurse asked. Maria held the baby closer, the moon of her life, and Mycroft was her sun.  
“William Sherlock Scott Holmes,” she answered. She had no intention of using the exceedingly normal name she had originally chosen, but she couldn’t just disregard her husbands’ choice. As Sherlock fell asleep in her arms she promised herself that no one would take this baby away from her.   
   
When Maria’s grandmother died, she left her house to her. Despite the tragic loss of her grandmother the timing couldn’t have been better.  The house outside London was large, magnificent and full of staff people. Maria and Peter wanted to give Sherlock and Mycroft a house that they could grow and call home and with four people in the Holmes family there wasn’t enough space in their little house. So, they packed up and moved.  
   
Maria and Ellie had a tear-filled goodbye with promises to keep in touch. Mycroft sobbed as said goodbye to Sarah, Harry, and Greg, giving them all bone crushing hugs. He refused to let Greg go until his father unwrapped his arms from the other boy and carried him to the car like a child. Sherlock sat in the car, uninterested in it all and really too young to understand what was happening at barely one year old, but he raised tiny hand to the window as John waved goodbye to him. Mycroft thought that it was the worst thing to happen to mankind. He hated his parents and he hated Sherlock for taking up extra space so they had to move.  
   
 Sherlock grew and became something like a human hurricane that destroyed everything in its way. But that boy was brilliant and by the age of six he had read all the books on the bottom shelves in their vast library. He suffered from Mycroft’s mental abuse and it left that scars cut deep into Sherlock.  
“Don’ try to be smart Sherlock, I’m the smart one,” he would taunt as Sherlock studied bugs in the garden.  
   
Sherlock hadn’t escaped from the grasp of Aspergers. Ever since he was young he suffered with social interactions and displayed and entirely too complex knowledge of science and music for a child his age. Maria dragged him to an expert. Maria had had a therapist named Theresa for a while. She was an expert in her division and Maria was in panic. Someone had to fix her moon. After weeks of examinations and questions, Sherlock was officially diagnosed with aspergers.  Maria was horrified.   
   
She fell into a depression after that. It was her fault that her son was like this. He would suffer far more because of it than she ever had, women having naturally better social skills had let her find love with Peter. Sherlock was less than likely to ever find that because of her. Poor Sherlock was left with only a shell of a mother for the remainder of his childhood.  
   
When he was sixteen something exciting finally happened. A murder! A boy named Carl Powers died mysteriously in a swimming pool despite his strong swimming skills Sherlock had read about it in the paper and there was something weird about that case. He had to investigate. With his already good acting skills he managed to get himself onto the scene by presenting himself as a friend. It was that day that Sherlock met someone that would mean much to him later. When he was searching through Carl powers locker he found all his clothes, but no shoes. It should be obvious to anyone that Carl Powers hadn’t showed up that day with no shoes, someone had taken them. Once the police finally realized he’d snuck off they sent Greg Lestrade to find him. Greg caught him searching through Carl’s locker. Recently out of school, very new on the force, slightly less idiotic than the rest, twenty-six, Sherlock deduced in his head, same age as my oaf of a brother his brain (un)helpfully supplied.  
“Hey, kid what are you doing here?” he asked, simply to see if the kid would be easy to get answers from. After all he had a little brother, he knew how teenagers could be. “I- uh,” he knew that he was in big trouble now. Mummy and Daddy would be so angry.  
“Kid don’t worry I don’t mean any harm, it’s just, you do know you aren’t supposed to be here right?”  
Sherlock pocketed his magnifying glass, “Please don’t tell my parents! I’m just trying to help. I have a theory on this case.”  
That caught Lestrade’s attention. “Listen, how about I take you home and we talk about your theory. We don’t have to tell your parents you were caught at a crime scene.” Sherlock nodded in agreement and was soon clambering into the passenger seat of Lestrades’ car. When they got to his house Sherlock walked inside and sat down to talk to Lestrade when Mycroft walked in. Both of the older boys’ eyes bugged and their jaws dropped.  
“Myc?”  
“Greg!” Mycroft exclaimed throwing himself into the police officers arms leaving Sherlock sitting awkwardly.  
“I missed you so much,” Lestrade murmured into Mycroft’s hair. Sherlock and Greg did eventually talk about the case, but not for long before Mycroft stole him away. Mycroft always took Sherlock’s things.  
   
   
For two years Sherlock tuned his deduction skills by helping Lestrade with most of his cases. Sherlock never took credit for it because he never wanted to get into the newspapers. He was a freak enough without headlines like, “GENIUS BOY SOLVES ANOTHER ONE.” He had also kept his involvement with the police secret from his parents thus far and if he ended up in the papers that secret would come out very quickly. Mycroft only kept his secret because Sherlock threatened to tell the press about his relationship with Greg and god knows what that might do to his reputation.  
   
Sherlock was eighteen the year that the Watson family came to visit. Ellie and Christopher had spent a few years in Sweden, both of them wanting to explore new cities and places. They thought the experience would be good for John and Harriet. Sherlock hadn’t seen the Watson siblings since he was a baby, so he didn’t anything about them and if that wasn’t Christmas then he wasn’t sure what was. He had four new people to test is deduction skills on, so naturally he was ecstatic. He did know that Harry and Mycroft were good friends, but obviously nothing more considering Mycroft’s relationship with Greg and the obvious fact that Harry was gay as well. Girls don’t wear necklaces with “Clara” engraved in them if their name is Harriet.  
   
The youngest Watson, John, who was only twenty-two years old caught Sherlock’s eyes immediately. There was something about John, some quality that made him less dull than everyone else. At the dinner table Sherlock sat in silence, listening to the conversations going around the table. Harry and Mycroft were discussing Harry’s girlfriend Clara while Sherlock smirked at being correct in his deduction. Harry really did the talking and Mycroft just nodded and smiled. Sherlock was sure he was pleased that the discussion didn’t get in the way of his eating. Then across the table, obviously faking interest, was John.  
“John tell Maria about your education!” his mother exclaimed.  
“Yes well, I am studying to become a army doctor,” John explained smiling politely.  
“Wow, so when are you going in the army?”   
“After the summer.”   
Sherlock had already deduced that.   
“Oh, John tell us about your lovely girlfriend your mother mentioned!”   
Sherlock just knew then that he never would have a chance.   
   
Instead of being upset about John he decided to go out and find someone else. Surely it couldn’t be that difficult. He just needed someone who wouldn’t expect him to get emotions from him. It was with that mindset that he met Victor Trevor, along with his cocaine. He couldn’t help it, Victor was dangerous, attractive, older, and possessed a glorious amount of drugs. Victor was everything Sherlock wasn’t. They met when Victor was hanging around Scotland Yard claiming his car was stolen. Everyone ignored him, seeing what his true nature was, junkie. If the incompetent officers at the yard could tell he was a junkie hen obviously so could Sherlock, so he took a risk for once in his life. He agreed to help Victor find his car in exchange for a hit of whatever he sold.  
   
Sherlock moved into Victors’ trash apartment a week later. He told himself that he didn’t want his family to find out about his new drug habits, which wasn’t a lie, but the true reason was because his feelings for John were only getting stronger. John was the idea of a love he never would get. But Victor was a mindless hookup he could get and more.   
   
Sherlock convinced himself he was head over heels in love with Victor, not the sex, drugs and nicotine. It hurt less to think he had given up everything he had for love rater than getting high. Everyone went through a rebellious stage, well everyone except Mycroft, the perfect child. Maybe this was just a stage for him, but it all felt so real and raw. It felt like the rest of his life. he refused to let his family help him and Greg refused to let him work with the yard until he was clean.  
   
In a blur of years there was nothing but Victor and orgasms and drugs that made his mind silent. He did small jobs for other junkies to get enough money to get by. Everything seemed perfect. They felt forever young, like they were invincible, like it never would end. They didn’t want it to end because if it did what did they have? Sometime after Sherlock’s twenty-third birthday Victor died of an overdose and Sherlock was left alone. He was truly and completely alone this time.  
   
“Please let me in!” Sherlock yelled standing outside the house his family had lived in, still high and miserable, “PLEASE LET ME IN!”  
There was no answer. Just silence. Had something happened over the course of five years? He hadn’t talked to his family in that time, five fucking blurry years. Finally someone opened the door. It was Mrs.Hudson his old nanny and the family’s housekeeper stood there.   
“Sherlock?” she asked and at his nod of conformation ushered him in the door. “Dear you look terrible! Sit down, I’ll make you a cuppa.” She said. Sherlock was never as happy as he was then to see her.   
   
The whole house was silent and empty except for him and Mrs.Hudson.   
“Oh dear how was it that you take your tea? I can’t remember. I’m getting old.”   
“Black two sugars” he answered softly. He felt terrible. He hadn’t taken any coke in a day and it was already getting on him like a tiger. Mrs.Hudson came with two cups of tea and biscuits.   
“I won’t make you explain tonight Sherlock,” she said. He smile thankfully, he really didn’t feel for explaining what had been going on the past five years. He took a biscuit. It was like an explosion of different things in his mouth. They were just so tasty, likely the best he had eaten in a while.   
“Wh- Where are my parents?” he asked after a while. His voice was still a little rough. Mrs.Hudson took a sip of her tea and then put it down. It took her ten seconds to go through this procedure, Sherlock counted.  
“Oh dear, there’s no easy way to tell you this.”  
”What happened?” Sherlock asked. No Answer.   
“Tell me it’s my right to know what happened!” Sherlock demanded.  
Mrs.Hudson was now crying.   
”TELL ME!” Sherlock yelled. Mrs.Hudson looked up at him for a second.   
”They died....”   
   
Sherlock chocked back a sob and walked out of the house leaving Mrs.Hudson crying. He never got to say goodbye to his parents just because he was too stupid and addicted. Was it really too difficult for him to have called? To show them that he still cared. That he still loved them.  
   
He left the Holmes house and went back to Trevor’s apartment. He looked around for the bags of white powder that were hidden around the flat. Unfortunately it was around the time Victor usually restocked, but Sherlock found enough for what he needed. What he needed was too much for his body to handle; he needed enough to overdose.  
   
He woke up in a bed and noticed everything was very white. It smelled of cleaning supplies and soap. He groaned and rolled over, Mycroft coming into his line a vision. Mycroft- the only family he had left.   
”M...yC...oft,” he mumbled. The last thing he remembered was miscalculating the dosage- on purpose. Mycroft was angry and now he couldn’t hide from his anger.   
”What were you thinking Sherlock?!” Mycroft yelled. He was very angry and it didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to figure that one out.   
”P- Please Mycroft, let me be,” Sherlock almost whispered, but there was no room for forgiveness.   
”You could have died! They told me that you might not make it and I was so scared Sherlock so scared that you might die! You’re my only family left! Your loss would break my heart.” Mycroft broke down crying. It was a strange to see him cry. Mycroft never cried, not while Sherlock could see anyways. He always kept himself together for the sake of the queen and country.   
”I am so sorry Mycroft…please forgive me,” Sherlock pleaded quietly. Tears had started streaming down from his own eyes and he was surprised he had tears left to cry after last night. The Holmes brothers hugged for the first time in over twenty years. They had to stick together now; support each other.  
   
Mycroft wanted to put him in rehab, but Sherlock’s psychiatrist insisted that Sherlock could do it at home with the help of Mycroft. She didn’t say the true reason: that he would be too much of a disturbance to the other patients with his continuous string of deductions that he had kept up the last couple days he was in the hospital. It was torturous, but with the help of the professionals that Mycroft hired they got Sherlock clean.  
   
Sherlock barely had contact with his brother. He couldn’t look Mycroft in the eye because e was only ever greeted with fury and sadness when he did. He managed to get an apartment on Montague Street, it was small but it would do just fine. His landlord was absolutely tedious. Constantly nagging him about everything.   
“I can’t have people knowing I let psychopaths like you live here. They’ll all move out.”   
Often he just ignored it, surely he didn’t do anything outside of his flat that screamed psychopath.    
   
He had started to help Lestrade with his cases again. Greg was a DI now thanks to Sherlock’s help those years before. Unfortunately there were two really annoying people that worked for him. They followed Lestrade like a tail and they were Sergeant Donavon and Anderson. They were a perfect example of how people had generally treated Sherlock through his life. He often got called freak, psychopath and weirdo. Sherlock just hit back making comments about their obvious affair and personal insecurities.   
   
One day he got a call from Mrs.Hudson. He hadn’t talked to her since she’d told him his parents were dead. Martha as her name really was told him that she needed help with her husband, Martin. He was sentence to death in Florida, and she wanted to make sure it happened. Sherlock worked to ensure that it did. Mrs.Hudson declared that she was forever indebted to him and anything he needed she would give him.  
   
On 28th January 2011, thirty-two year old Sherlock takes her up on that offer and asks for a flat. He had been kicked out of his flat on Montague Street after punching his landlord in the face.  
“HEY! FREAK! I heard your mummy burnt herself to death! Couldn’t she stand her psycho junkie of a son,” he snarled as Sherlock was walking out. Suddenly the landlord was lying on the ground screaming his lungs out, the coward. Sherlock packed up his things and left before the police were called.  
That was how he ended up in 221b, and despite the discount Mrs.Hudson gave him Sherlock took it knowing that he can’t afford it on his own.   
   
The day after Sherlock goes to the lab at St. Barts as usual to work on an experiment. As soon as he walks in Stamford’s heavy hand is on his shoulder and he’s saying, “Sherlock! Good thing you’re here Molly needs help with a corpse. You know the dead and I don’t get on very well,” he chuckles giving Sherlock a smile that Sherlock answers with a fake one.   
”Of course Michael, it makes sense for me to do your job while you get paid for it,” Sherlock retorts in an irritated tone.   
“Whoa mate, usually you’re jumping up and down at he chance to work with a corpse. You suddenly short on money or something?”  
“I had to get a new flat at short notice” Sherlock admits reluctantly, “and I can’t afford it.” It was the truth and the truth was very sad.   
”Why don’t you find a flatmate or something?”   
”Who would want me for a flatmate?”   
Mike looked around awkwardly before declaring that it was his lunch break so he should get going. Sherlock planted himself in front of a microscope forgetting about the corpse he was supposed to be helping Molly with.  
   
An hour or two later Stamford showed up again now with another man. Sherlock recognized the other man the second he saw him. It was John Watson, his first taste of love and rejection. This man wasn’t the John of Sherlock’s past anymore. He was tired, depressed and not leaning on the cane he was holding- interesting. His face was still full of despair and pain however and Sherlock decided then and there that he would fix John. He would make him smile again.  
”Mike, can I borrow your phone? There’s no signal on mine,” he says suddenly. His question startles Stamford, who is used to Sherlock remaining completely silent while he works no matter how long that might be.  
”And what’s wrong with the landline?”   
”I prefer to text”. Sherlock know what Stamford will tell him he doesn’t have his phone on him because he always keeps his phone in his office. Mike gives this excuse and the John is speaking.  
”Er, here. Use mine”   
   
Sherlock ‘accidentally’ brushes John’s hand with his own as he takes the mobile from him. John’s blush doesn’t escape Sherlock’s notice. It seemed John wasn’t as straight as he used to be. Sherlock had a chance now, but instead of expressing this he said, “Afghanistan or Iraq?” by the end of the conversation he’s been able to use Molly to make it blatantly obvious he isn’t interested in women and he’s certain John will agree to be his flatmate. Life had never been this great.   
   
Years later when they both sit down drinking wine and telling stories about their lives John asks, ”So what about your parents, where are they now?”  He realizes his mistake when Sherlock’s face clouds over.  
”Dead. I never really found out how it happened. They died while I was… out of touch with the family. Mycroft doesn’t feel I deserve to know after what I put them through so I never talk about them,” he says and gives John a sad smile. After that they never talk about it again. They never talk about his paranoid mother Maria who always wanted the best for Sherlock or about his father the brilliant scientist. They don’t discuss how they befriended Ellie and Christopher causing Sherlock and John’s paths to intertwine. They never mention the two people that started it all. 


End file.
